Waiting to feel the flutter

Now, before any one panics—no I am not pregnant.
(Please four is enough! Have you met Captain Destruction? It is a wonder my house is still standing. )

I just feel like I am pregnant.


I am expecting a triathlon.

My training and races this year have become very much like my pregnancies. In the beginning of the season, I was excited about the races I had chosen, the training plan I had selected, and was bursting at a seams to get started. And, similar to each of my pregnancies, I kept everything a secret just in case something happened and my races and training did not work out.

After a while, the cat got out of the bag. I could no longer keep my training and races a secret as plans were being made and I had to politely decline due to biking/swimming/running or purchases were being made and noticed. I did not flaunt my training, but others were aware of it and some began to cheer me on. I was still excited to train, eagerly anticipating the outcome.

Now, I am in the end of the second to the beginning of the third trimester of my triathlon training. Just like in the middle stages of my pregnancies where I had become accustomed to being pregnant, adjusted to the new body, limitations, and needs, I now have become adjusted to the routine. The novelties of new workouts have worn off and running, swimming, and biking have all become part of the checklist of my daily life:

aGo grocery shopping
aRide bike for 2 hours
aLoad dishwasher
aClean bathrooms
aSwim 1 mile time trial
aFold and put away laundry

Now, much unlike my pregnancies, I have not been getting that sweet reminder of the purpose of all this hard work. When your body is working hard baking a baby, you get some wonderful reminders of what the prize is at the end of the journey. There are kicks and punches, flutters and nudges from the little being within. If you are lucky (read: have a great insurance plan), you are even able to get occasional pictures of the reward as it grows and changes, providing concrete evidence of progress.

I have been desperately searching for those flutters in my training – a great ride, faster paces, making the “impossible” interval. Those little nudges have just not been there (or they have not been at all apparent to me).

I read triathlon blogs for entertainment and to be inspired. It seems, lately, that everyone I read has been feeling the flutter. They have had personal best runs, rides, or swims. They have been placing in their age groups, having epic training adventures in picturesque settings, or meeting and training with phenomenal friends. They have found cheerleaders in the most unexpected of places.

Me, lately. I got nothin'. I do most of my training alone. When I swim at the Y, there are no feet to catch. When I run, the only conversations I have are with myself as I create the lists of things I need to get done. There are no epic rides in picturesque settings. Usually, I have to stick close to home in case the babysitter calls. Today, I travelled the same uphill stretch of road twice (up and down) as a part of my hill workout. (I am sure that the AT&T workmen thought I was crazy). The only striking scene I noticed was the poor squirrel that didn’t make it across the road (which I had the pleasure of viewing four times).

Now, don’t get me wrong. I have had a few flutters since I began this year’s journey. I ran the ½ marathon with some fabulous friends and made my super secret far reaching time goal. However whatever amount of flutter that event gave me, the race seems weeks ago and my mind has converted that flutter to the speculation that it was just gas.

At some point, when I was pregnant with all of my children, I decided that I was done with being pregnant. I had enough of the huge belly, the food cravings and aversions, the continuous need to go the bathroom, and the inability to ever get comfortable. Many women experience this during the last months before their due date and my triathlon pregnancy is heading down the same path as my “A” race due date is a mere 7 weeks away. I am getting tired of the huge rides and runs, frustrated at my constant hunger and not being able to find the find the perfect food to satiate it, and I know that Mr. Spie no longer wants to be a message therapist.

Much like my overwhelming desire to meet the person I was growing and begin to parent and LOVE them, I just want to race and see the concrete evidence of my work. But, similar to pregnancy, I know there is some time left on the triathlon timer and my "A" game is not quite done.

I also know that sometimes a mood can be changed just by a few swift kicks to the ribs and I am sure that with a few friendly triathlon nudges, my mood will be lifted too!

In-tro-spec-shun

Well, my solitary and confinement sentence has been served. I was released last night around 8:00 p.m. During my brief foray into communication lock down, I had plenty of time for "thinkun" and apparently I am not too deep because this is a sampling what I was pondering last week:

1. Door to door school fundraisers – Why can’t they sell what I want (or at least what I need at the time)? The other day a neighborhood child came to our door to selling candy bars to raise money for their high school band. I, being the incredibly mean person that I am (according to my husband), turned her down under the guise that I had no money. I truly didn’t. I only had $4.00 which was allotted towards hot lunch for my children for the next week. Even if I had money, I would not have purchased a candy bar. As a rule, I do not eat candy and although I do allow my children to have candy on occasion, I certainly would not purchase them a $4.00 candy bar as they would not savor it. The bar would be inhaled in a matter of seconds. I doubt that it would be tasted.

Cost per child per second of entertainment : $1.00

--and the sugar after effect is certainly not priceless.

Why can’t there be door to door sales of things I actually want: NUUN, Body Glide, Granola or some sort of nutrition bar? Or need (so I don’t have to take the unruly lot to the store): toilet paper, paper towels, Cool Whip, quart milk, loaf of bread, and a stick of butter…. Imagine door to door paper goods sales people – I would so be on top of that!

2. Why is it physically impossible for me to ride my bike with my mouth shut? I tried to ride with my mouth shut. It just doesn’t work.

3. On a related note, why does my nose run the minute I sit on my bike? It doesn’t just drip. It is a veritable faucet for my entire ride and stops immediately when I dismount the bike.

4. Are #2 and #3 related somehow?

5. Why was I panic stricken on Thursday during my bike ride when I realized that I was going to arrive home 10 minutes later than I told the babysitter? Although I am sure that it increased my MPH average, I was pedaling like I stole my bike and a pack of wild coyotes were chasing me. I am paying the babysitter to watch my children. They are going to get paid for the time I am late. Why do I feel beholden to a 13 year old?

6. Why, when I was buttering up myself for Thursday’s ride with Chamois Butter, did I feel like I was doing something morally wrong?

7. If I tested my treadmill to see if it was calibrated wrong, would it change they way I do any of my training? Would it just be an ego experiment?

8. How would I feel if it was actually calibrated correctly? Is ignorance (or believing in the tales I tell myself) truly bliss?

9. Why don't they make technical shirts or running/biking shorts with small terry cloth patches on the back so I have a very absorbent pad to wipe my sweat, drool (see #2), or nose drippies (#3) when I run or ride?

10. At what age do you become "okay" with public nudity?

At Y, I am very modest. All of my actions revolve around exposing as little flesh as possible. All of the older swimming ladies walk around completely nude, talk to each other nude, talk to me nude. I find myself uncomfortable for them. At what age do you stop clinging to the towel?

11. Can eating half of the loaf of banana bread count as a serving of fruits or vegetables for the day?

12. When did my sense of smell become so warped?

Recently, I passed by a woman in a store that was wearing Sunflowers perfume. I used to love that scent. Now, I found it a bit overpowering -- dare I say offensive. The other day when I was riding, I kept smelling something. The scent was following me. The scent was annoying me. I finally figured out that it was my sunscreen's "light and clean" scent (that, my friends, is up to interpretation). Now contrast this to the fact on more than one occasion I have run short of time and had to just "throw on some clothes and deodorant" after a 1.5 to 1.75 hour trainer ride and take my daughters to gymnastics. My scent, which I am positive is offensive to others, is unperceivable to me.

Now that Mr. Spie is home safe and sound, I have someone to discuss these important issues with. Once these are solved I am sure that the economy will turn around, our deficit will immediately decrease, the auto industry and banking industry will be saved, and it will be the end of global warming.

Well, probably not, but at least I will not have to all of my training indoors and that is one pressing problem solved in my book.

Solitary and Confinement

On Friday, I began serving my sentence.

EIGHT days of Solitary and Confinement.

Mr. Spie left late Thursday night for a boy’s weekend piggy backed on a week long business trip.

He has left me to battle the natives...

ALL ALONE.

(and let me tell you the native are very restless.)

Nothing is lonelier than your significant other leaving for an extended walk-a-bout.

Now, I know what you are thinking…

Spie, you are not alone. You have four children. There is always someone there.

Yes, yes. It is true. I always have someone here, but there is a huge difference between conversation with an almost three year old and a conversation with an adult.

Recent conversations with my children are interwoven with a lack of logic which sometimes makes me question my sanity. For example, Captain Destruction decided that his shirt had “poop” on it and he had to change his whole outfit. (It didn’t, but don’t try to tell him anything different). He brought me his SWIM trunks (he may be a little swimwear obsessed) to help him put on. I was doing the dishes so I shook the soap off of my hands and put his SWIMSUIT on. He then chastised me for getting his SWIMSUIT wet and had to promptly remove it and find other clothes.

Would this happen with a grown up? Aside from the fact that I hope I never have to have a conversation about poop on a shirt and help said grown-up get their swimsuit on, an adult knows that swimsuits are made to be WET!

Conversation is further limited by content. What I want, nay what I NEED, to talk about and “get off my chest” is not very appropriate for my children as I spend the better part of my parenting trying to get my children to respect themselves and respect others. We talk about how we do not name call or tease. We respect other’s differences and appreciate others for what they are and their potential.

This past week I had to run to Wal-Mart to buy some supplies for Mr. Spie’s week long furlough. I loaded Captain Destruction into the basket part of the cart and was tootle-ing along merrily on my way. Until the big, bad Wal-Mart employee accosted me and said “We prefer that children sit down in the cart so they don’t topple over.” I politely replied that I understood, that CD was sitting, he just stood up, I would appreciate if he was sitting too, and oh, by the way, he is also three. Then, I turned and walked away.

(side note: This is not the first time nor the first store in which I have been approached by the cart police. I need to make a custom shirt that I will wear when I shop anywhere that there is a cart involved that states “Please do not approach me as I will not sue you if my child falls out of the cart. I take full responsibility for my child and his actions.” This will be the complement to my running shirt that states “Go ahead and hit me. I have the right of way and I need some more money for my race entry fees”)

Now, when I related that story to Mr. Spie it was not the above succinct, cleaned up version. It was peppered with mildly strong language and other disparaging things said about all the other people (the person who parks in the middle of the grocery store aisle, the person who coached the girl swimming in the lane next to me who told her to “do the same thing, but don’t let her(meaning me) beat you”, the driver that tried to run me off the road, the person who reacts inappropriately to my race results….. you know, the whole world) that added to my annoyance that day, week, month, etc. Now, it kind of would be counterproductive for me to admonish my kids for speaking ill of others and then turn around and spew the ugliness that oozes from me when I am annoyed.

So, essentially anything that I NEED to talk about is out. Other things I talk about, making my intervals, getting a new training pr, my minute per mile pace, the grocery list, the bills I paid, what I washed that was not clothes in the washer, the things that CD broke, frankly don’t interest my kids. I am sure that they don’t interest Mr. Spie, but he plays the "pretend to listen to Spie and feign interest" game pretty convincingly. So, while Mr. Spie is away, I am in communication lock down. Left alone to solitarily (is that even a word? –now I am starting to talk like my kids), subsequently internally, deal with my emotions and frustrations.

My chosen emotional outlet? Exercise…

Which leads to the second sentence which accompanies his stay-away-cation…

CONFINEMENT

There are no other responsible adults currently in the house (sometimes my being "responsible" is questioned at least by Wal-Mart employees), multiplied by the fact that all of my friends work outside of the home, squared by the fact that my husband and I are transplants (i.e. no relatives in the area) in the lovely state of Wisconsin, all adds up to….

Doing all of my training indoors this week.

Let that sink in.

I live in Wisconsin. We finally are experiencing this season called spring. I have spent the better part of 5 months riding the trainer and running on the treadmill. I have watched every show on HULU and have every lyric on my MP3 player memorized. I can tell you all the ”witty” dialog word for word on my Chris Carmichael training CDs. If blindfolded and dropped in my basement, I can identify the exact spot on the wall that I stare at on the treadmill by texture alone.

These past weeks, I have relished my outdoor runs and rides with the joy of a child eating a popsicle on a hot summer day and now I am in lock-down once again. It is like winter has returned, but not so much with the promise of presents and delicious baked goods.

Once I found out that Mr. Spie was leaving, negotiations were made. As I will not be able to swim while he is away because the Y that houses the pool has no childcare, I have been granted permission to swim during his brief home layover on Monday (he arrives sometime Monday morning and has to leave again early that afternoon) and I negotiated the hiring of a babysitter for two of my bike rides, one being a three hour ride.

I attempted a three hour ride during the winter on the trainer and it was not pretty. There was too many distractions, too much foul language on the movies I deemed entertaining enough to hold my interest for that length time, and too many demands made from the troops – who could not be bothered to ask the general (Mr. Spie) that was seated in the same room with them.

The thought of completing a three hour trainer ride without backup is pure insanity. Before the three hours were up there would be an uprising of gargantuan proportions which would be fueled by Lucky Charms and Toon Disney. The littles would be battling it out cage style to see who is the supreme screamer. The olders would be placing side bets and not breaking it up.

Not.Good.

As I add the hash marks to the aerobars marking down my sentence, I sincerely hope that the parole board takes pity on me and grants me an early pardon.

However, since that is not very likely, please send me a cake.

Not one with a file.

But one like this:

And enclose a responsible adult, capable of handling 4 children ages 9 and under.

Better yet, call my local Wal-Mart and see if "Captain Cart" is available.

Pictures of you, pictures of me

Hung up on the wall for the world to see…

This week I have been hung up on images, preconceptions, and self perception.

Here’s a test:

Imagine in your mind’s eye: A stay at home mom with four kids ages 9 to 3 years old.

Now picture: A woman who volunteers for a Fine Arts organization, a parochial school, and teaches Sunday school.

What does female triathlete who is training upwards of 10 hours a week for races look like?

Did you picture the same person for every situation? Or did your preconceived notions change the appearance of the woman?

As you may have guessed, all of these statements apply to me.

Here are statements that I often hear:

Wow, you don’t look anything like what I expected.
You have four??? kids?
Triathlons. Wow, you do that?

You have run marathons? really?

These comments and preconceptions sometimes make me wonder, what am I supposed to look like?

All of this self reflection started with my ½ marathon and comments in the school parking lot this week.

During the ½ marathon, I felt fluid, like a gazelle. I did not feel stressed or strained. My pacing was spot on. I felt like I could run some more (not the whole 26.2, but I was not crawling towards the finish). In my mind, my appearance reflected my ease in the run. The race photos, however, presented a different story. I never like looking at myself in pictures anyway and race photos are notoriously harsh. I look strained and in pain, panting towards the finish looking for a place in the soft grass where I can collapse and rest for a while.

My mental picture did not match my outward appearance.

Thursday, in the school parking lot as I was picking up the olders, I was talking to some of the other moms. Captain Destruction started making his "notice me- pay attention to me" overtures so I opened the door to reveal a very dirty and disheveled CD. Dressed in shorts, shirt, dirt, and rain boots, he was all smiles. One of the moms commented that I was a "good mom" because I just let kids be kids.

I mulled over that comment as I drove home wondering if the fact that she knew me changed her picture of me.

At a different time, another parent joked that I just shattered her perfect "Martha Stewart" mom image of me the day that CD showed up wearing rain boots (yes, he really likes those rain boots) shorts, and a winter coat.

I contrasted these opinions against the unknown opinions of fellow parents at my daughter's gymnastics class. I have no relationship with any of those parents. In fact, I have only talked to one and have a strange history with another. (He is an ob/gyn and delivered my third child not a real comfortable be "social" situation) On Wednesday, gymnastic day, Captain Destruction’s outfit was a “learn to swim” long leg swimsuit complete with attached floaties. We got quite a few looks and comments from kids and parents.

What do you think those parents were thinking?

My guess is that they were not all thinking what a great parent I was. They probably ranged from “She’s got no control of that child” to “Wow, she must be at her wits end, poor woman” to “I guess that the laundry is not done yet”.

Other's mental assessments plus the outward appearance of my children, may have or may not have matched the real picture.

With each successive child, I have gotten better at not worrying about outside appearances and have limited my fretting about other's opinions, but it has not been an easy road to travel. It took me nine years to not be mortified at my children's outfits. I can assure you that with my first child, there would have been a wardrobe change if the swimsuit presented itself as the "outfit for the day". Nowadays, non matching shoes, creatively colorful outfits, and nonsensical combinations (i.e. Cheese often wears leggings, skirt, long sleeve shirt, short sleeve shirt, and a sweater. CD puts on everything backwards) are the norm.

Having children has upgraded my camera: not an external camera, but my internal camera. Each time I look at my children, whether they are covered in dirt or clean from the tub, dressed in crazy combinations or ready for church, all I see are beautiful individuals with limitless potential, who are full of joy and wonder. Their images are back lit by a glow of love, pride, and hope.

Not only does this camera take the best pictures, it also has amazing clarity and focus when I am out with the kids. It gives me the confidence to to chuckle at the comments and looks as the opinions of strangers lose their value and I become more secure and confident in what kind of parent I am.

Their cameras are NOT taking the pictures of my children that are hanging on my mental wall.

Now, the trick is to learn how to use that same camera when I take a pictures of me.

Woe is me

Woefully negligent... That is what I have been. It has been a long time since I updated my blog. Frankly, I have no excuse other than I do not think my life has been that noteworthy.

Snoozeville.

Now that we are in May, I feel compelled to update my life and get back on track.

In order to catch everyone up, here are random bits about life in the past two plus weeks.

1. My physical therapist and I are currently on a one month "break". It wasn't that our relationship wasn't working, but I needed to work on myself before any more progress can be made in our relationship. I have fallen into a out of sight out of mind mentality. All of benefits from the relationship have eroded away as I have fallen into my bad habits once again.

(We took a break so I could work on strengthening my back in order to help the realignment of my shoulders. I have not been the best at regularly doing my exercises and as a consequence my shoulder is aching more lately causing me to do strange things in my positioning and posturing to protect myself from the hurt, reeling me backwards in the progress that I have made so far)

2. A slumber party for six 9 (ish) year old boys is NOT a good idea.

(Never count on people not showing up or staying because then they will stay. The breaking point was at 1:17 a.m. when I heard one hoodlum say to another "Let's shine our flashlight in his face and see if he is really asleep" I lost it and went into complete M2 (mean mommy) mode. I slept in the doorway of the room chastising any noise, keeping vigil until all of the boys were finally asleep. At 2 a.m., I crawled back to my own bed and awaited the 5:38 alarm to swim and complete a 10 mile run prior to my 1/2 marathon.)

3. 10 mile runs are not recommended after only 3 hours of sleep.

(It was supposed to be a tempo run. After the rain kept starting and stopping, the wind almost blew me to Kansas, and the fatigue set in from lack of sleep, I decided to just run it, and not worry about pace. Ironically, my pace improved after I decided not to worry about it... and the rain never started again.)

4. I had a fantastic 1/2 marathon run. Not only did I meet my super-secret time goal, (admit it we all have those) I beat my faux- rivals!

(There are two local women who complete and win (overall or age group) all of the triathlons they enter. I have been in awe of the athleticism for years and thought I would never ever be in their league. As I was over analyzing my race results, I noticed that I placed higher in the 1/2 than those women. In my head I know they were probably told to treat it like a training run and not race or go all out, but I still am going to stick those feathers in my cap and call it macaroni)

5. My first reaction on my time and pace upon the completion of my race was "Wow, I sure am a slacker when it comes to my weekly workouts!"

(During my runs, I congratulate myself on maintaining paces that are :40 sec. per mile slower than my race pace thinking that I am really going fast. During my last indoor triathlon, I pulled out a hundred average that was more like a recent 75 interval. I totally need to train with others.)

6. Even better than my stellar race was meeting my blogger friend M, face to face, as well as her very devoted fiance, and cheer her on to her 1/2 marathon PR. Then.....THEN...THEN if the day could not ROCK even more, they came over with some other of my friends that ran the 1/2 and we continued the work-out concentrating on our abs!

(We stretched out our bellies with too much food and gave ourselves side stitches from the frivolity of the conversation. Maybe we were a bit loopy from all of the endorphins, but who is to say really?)

7. All bets have been off this past week, okay month, on eating.

(The peak of bad eating was the 8 chocolate chip cookie lunch with the brownie batter chaser. Quite tasty. Not very GI friendly)

8. The best way to cap off a month of bad eating is throwing an after party after your 1/2 marathon.

(Can you say s'mores brownies, french onion dip, and the balance of chocolate chip cookies? -Carb-o- licious!)

9. A short brick is a llllllloooooonnnnnnnggggggggg brick the day after a 1/2 marathon.

(The bike ride was my second outdoor ride since October. What is this wind thing and how can I turn it off?)

10. I need to remember to use sunscreen, tasty bug count for the year is one, and I sooo need sunglasses or Lasik.

As school winds down and my training ramps up, I am sure that I will have more amusing anecdotes to share and my posts will become more regular --or I could just be writing what I think everyone wants to hear and I once again I will become a huge slacker...

I guess we all will have to wait and see.